


Oh, my blue heaven

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a dangerous song, this one they write together, but it might be the sweetest one of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She ran her hand through his hair, this man who renamed her twice. He breathed in long, greedy inflations, forehead pressed to her naked thigh and the sheets twisted around them both. 

“You got to get back out there, Tony.” She told him though she knew he was asleep. “I won’t let you waste yourself here.” 

Though here was pretty nice. The house in Malibu glimmered and gleamed against the ocean, swank furniture littering up the joint and a slick car waiting in the garage. Lots of people could retire here with no fear, but Tony would go crazy in a matter of weeks. Hell, she would start to lose it around the edges after a while. She and Tony had lived the high life together for too long to backslide into obscurity now. 

“Find me a band then.” Tony said, startling her. “You’re still my agent, aren’t you?” 

“I was never your agent.” 

“Right, you’re a lyricist who books gigs.” He yawned and rolled over onto his back. In the faint moonlight, she could barely see the scars. “You want me to sing, you gotta find me someone to sing with. And no goddamn trumpets.” 

“You got it, ace.” She grinned though the air was thick with old pain now between them. “Maybe a classy piano.” 

“I don’t want classy.” He reached for her, unable to be separate for long these days. “Get me someone who can play down and dirty.”

“You’re a crooner.” 

“Was, Pep.” He kissed her, down and dirty as promised. “Let’s get re-made.” 

Easier said than done. Of course, it always was with Tony. She left him behind in the house, bent over the engine of the Roadster, muttering obscenities at the spark plugs. Her first stop was the Romanov Tea Shop. It was the only ginjoint in California that she could guarantee wouldn’t turn her away these days. As soon as she stepped in the door, a burly waitress touched her gently on the elbow and led her down the back staircase into the classiest speakeasy on the West Coast. 

Dark wood, supple black leather chairs and the faint odor of gunpowder soothed her. This time of day, it was next to empty. Only a few hardened drinkers with their noses buried in bathtub gin and the bartender making lazy sweeps with his rag over the already immaculate bar. He had a rough look, but his smile moved everything into boyish charm. 

“If it ain’t Ms. Potts, the most elusive dame I know.” 

“That’s Mrs. Stark to you, Barton.” She smiled back, sliding into a bar stool. “Didn’t think you were allowed to work front of house.” 

“I heard you got married, but I didn’t want to believe it.” He put a hand over his heart. “A wound from which I will never recover.” 

She flinched and he groaned. 

“Sorry, sorry. That was stupid. I really did forget.” 

“Must be nice to have the luxury.” She could still feel the sticky heat of his blood on her fingers sometimes, see the rip of the bullet and the answering fire of her own revolver. “Not why I’m here. I got to talk to your boss.” 

“What all about?” He leaned in. “Maybe I can fix it up for you. Way of saying sorry.” 

“Not unless you’ve become a talent scout.” She raised an eyebrow. “What’d you think I’d be asking for?” 

“Come off it, Ms.P- Mrs. Stark. Everyone knows that you guys are lying low now. I figured maybe you need some special assistance getting the last of that gang off your tail.” 

“There isn’t a gangster in creation left to gun for us.” She said primly. “It’s amazing the kinds of things you can get the government to do when you hand them public enemies one through fifteen to them on a silver platter.” 

“Yeah, but it hasn’t left either of you with many friends, has it?” 

The gun had rattled in her hands. Obie had died slow, bleeding out on the pavement while she pressed her hands to Tony’s chest and prayed for the first time in years. 

“No.” She looked away. “But we can’t hide forever. You going to keep me waiting or let me talk to her?” 

“I’m worried for you both.” He put a drink in her hand. She knew even before she lifted it to her lips that it would the sweet rum she’d drunk the first time she’d walked through the doors. He never served her anything else. 

“Yeah, Barton.” She threw back the glass then set it down so gently it made no noise at all. “Me too.” 

“You know the way to her office.” He took the glass from her before she was quite ready to let go. 

The hall wasn’t long and the door cracked open in welcome for her. A marked contrast to seven years ago when it had been the longest walk she knew how to take. A shaky mol in her first pair of high heels and looking for a job that would dig her out of poverty. The Widow had taken one look at her and pushed her off on an odd bird with a scruffy goatee, holding the joint’s microphone like he couldn’t see anything else in the world. She had never thanked the Widow for that introduction. There had been too many price tags attached to see it as an act of charity. 

She knocked because that was the polite thing to do, then walked straight in because manners were dead between them anyway. The Widow sat behind an imposing desk, her hair tucked neatly under a driving scarf, leather gloves at her elbow finishing off the implication that she’d just come back from somewhere. Nowhere good, knowing her. 

“Hello, Mrs. Stark. Have a seat.” 

“Thank you.” She sat neatly, purse in her lap. “He wants to start singing again.” 

“I’m surprised it’s waited this long.” The Widow leaned back, all legs and bedroom eyes that made the rubes fall at her feet. “You know the jobs have dried up. No one wants a snitch in their clubs.” 

“Can’t be no one. You would have him.” 

“We’re not beholden to anyone, but ourselves.” The Widow shrugs always came off as elegant wiggles as if even here and now with another woman, she couldn’t quite stop performing. “The only joint that can say that for a lot of miles.” 

“We’re not going to play the old circuit. He wants to try something new.” 

“How new?” 

“Jazz.” 

“That is new.” The Widow smirked. “He going to do that all on his own?” 

“You know it’s why I came to see you.” She reached into her purse and fanned out a few green bills. “I need to find someone that can play like the devil himself, keep pace with Tony on a tear and won’t mind if things get rough.” 

“You don’t have to pay me for that.” The Widow laughed and for the first time, there was a note of uncertainty in it. “I’ve got just the guy for you and I wish you’d get him out of California.” 

“He make you nervous?” She challenged. 

“He’s the only man I know that makes Tony Stark look sane.” 

“I want to meet him.” 

“You always went for crazy.” The Widow stood and picked up her gloves. “Let’s go.” 

So the gloves and scarf hadn’t been from coming somewhere, but preparing to go out. 

“Who tipped you off?” Pepper asked casually, following the Widow up and out to a low slung menace of a car that gleamed an evil black in the afternoon sun. 

“No one. I’m good at guessing.” 

The Widow drove with the same fierce confidence she did everything else. Her scarf whipped out behind her in a blood red train that matched her fingernails. They drove into a neighborhood that had seen better days and parked on a side street with more empty shops then open ones. 

“I’ll introduce you, but after that I’m gone.” The Widow thinned her lips, looking up at one broken window. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” 

“I know when I’ve been tailed, Mrs. Stark. Don’t insult me.” 

Probably Happy then. Tony never sicced security on her since the first time, but Happy wouldn’t let her out of his sight if he could help it. 

“Wasn’t my idea.” She said by way of apology, before following wicked black heels into an apartment building and up a long flight of stairs. The stairwell reeked of cabbage and eggs, the carpeting long ago worn to tatters. 

The Widow knocked on a door with no number attached. 

“It’s me.” She said, kicking lightly at the bottom. “Here about repayment.” 

The door opened a few inches. 

“I don’t owe you anything.” A man’s voice, low and tight, filtered outward. 

“Who said anything about you?” The Widow crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “I pay my debts. You wanted work, I’ve got a job for you.” 

“What kind?” 

“I need a pianist.” Pepper broke in, ignoring the fierce look the Widow sent her way.

“I don’t play music anymore.” The door started to shut again, but the Widow stuck her shoe between the door and frame. 

“Listen, Banner. You want a job, I got you a job. You want to atone in the slums, that’s fine and dandy, but it isn’t going to pay the rent. At least hear the lady out.” 

After a long pause, the door swung open and the man slunk out. He was dressed in an old suit gone thin and shiny with too many washings. His hair suggested frequent tuggings, flying in wild black tangles. His face had seen better days, a little lined with age and worry, but his eyes were good. Dark and thoughtful as they settled on her face. 

“Virginia Potts.” He breathed out, hands coming together in a nervous fidget. 

“Pepper Stark.” She corrected. “Good, you know who I am. That saves time.” 

“You wrote ‘Unfaithful’. I played that song a hundred times after it came out.” He tilted his head. “Heard you sing it once.” 

“That must have been a long time ago.” She’d never had any kind of voice, not really. There had been a few months when she tried to make it on her own. It hadn’t taken many nights of boos to piece together that she was better behind the stage than on it. “It’s kind of you to remember.” 

“Is it?” He grimaced. “So what. You want me to put some instrumentals to your ditties?” 

“Maybe at some point. For now, I’m in the market for an accompanist, who’s willing to suffer through a ballad singer trying to pick up jazz.”

“Why would you want to sing jazz?” 

The Widow slipped away without so much as a word, taking with her some of the tension in Banner’s shoulders. 

“I don’t sing anymore.” Pepper corrected, bemused by the misunderstanding. “Tony Stark is the one looking to branch out.” 

“Oh?” Banner blinked. 

“Tony Stark?” She repeated, incredulous now. “The Crown Prince of the Lounge?” 

“I’ve been out of the country for a few years.” Banner rubbed at the back of his neck. 

“That’s perfect.” She had to laugh. “Tony’s ego will sting like the devil.” 

“I haven’t agreed.” 

“How about you come back to our place and pick out a few tunes? Let Tony sing for you, then you can make up your mind.” 

“I-” He glanced backward at the closed apartment door, then at her. “If I say no-” 

“Then I’ll have Happy drop you right back here with a few dollars for your troubles. Deal?” 

She held out one white gloved hand. He took in gingerly, shaking like he might shatter her. 

“Deal.” 

Happy pulled up in front of the apartment and wisely said nothing as Banner climbed in across from her in the backseat, looking more like a hobo then a musician of Tony’s caliber.

“That’s some house.” Banner whistled as they got closer. “Guess your boy really is something.” 

“I like to think so.” 

He followed her up the front stairs, clearly a little lost in the grandeur. 

“This way. I think you’ll enjoy this.” She led him downstairs to Tony’s music room. The insulated room with its rudimentary studio allowed Tony to record himself and play it back in endless loops until he was happy with the sound. 

She walked briskly to the corner, pulling the sheet of the magnificent grand piano. Somewhere along the line, Tony had gotten it painted a showy purple that clashed horribly with his usual red and gold ensembles. Who the paint job had been intended to impress was still a mystery to Pepper and would likely remain so. 

For his part, Banner ran a hand over the keys, seemingly not taking in the color at all in favor of acquainting himself with the sound. 

“It’s been tuned recently.” She offered as he picked out a scale. “If you want to warm up for a bit, I’ll go get Tony.” 

“Mhmm.” Banner replied absently, sliding onto the piano bench without looking up. Glasses manifested from his pocket, slipping over his nose and turning him into something a little more distant. His fingers found their way across the ivory. For a brief flash, she imagined those strong hands on her body, wondering if he touched a woman as reverently as an instrument. It was a foolish thought, but in the quiet of her own mind, she allowed herself to be a fool. 

Tony was in their bedroom, staring out over the ocean with an empty glass hanging from his fingertips. She took it from him and set it on the sideboard, before resting her chin on his shoulder. The water raged outside, beating itself to a froth on the rocks below. 

“I brought you something.” She slid an arm around his waist, feeling the solid bulk of him, the realness of his body against hers. “A ragamuffin pianist. The Widow thinks he’s bughouse.” 

“That’s real swell, Pep.” He said dryly. “Can he play?” 

“No idea.” She kissed his cheek. “Want to find out?” 

They stopped before the two-way mirror. Banner was leaning over the piano playing with a ferocity that escaped the soundproofing, leaking pained notes under the door. 

“Pep.” He turned to her slowly. “Did you bring me Bruce Banner?” 

“Is that his first name?” 

“That is not a ragamuffin.” He choked. “That is not some rum pianist you plucked off a street. That is THE Bruce Banner. The great of greats.” 

“Then how come The Widow dredged him up out of a dump like that?” 

“There was an incident.” Tony frowned, searching his prodigious memory for the details. “His girl left him, maybe there was drinking involved. He threw punches at a few mighty important people and overturned a lot of tables. Then he disappeared off the map. I always figured he’d killed himself. But man, could that bird make a piano sing once upon a time.” 

“You heard him play?” 

“Heard him? I stalked him when I was still doing back up for the old man. He was hot then, blazing.” 

“Bet you two could start a fire together now.” She winked and he flashed her the grin that still made her weak in the knees. 

“Let’s find out.” He pushed into the sound room, letting the full blast of the wicked piano hit them. 

“He’s possessed.” She said into Tony’s ear, not without appreciation. Banner pounded at the keys, coaxing forth a wild torrent of notes. There seemed no natural point to interrupt him as the music only got faster, more brutal. She imagined it backed by a band, in full swing and the frenzy of dancers trying to keep pace. 

“That’s something.” Tony went right up to him and clapped Banner on the shoulder. The music skittered into an abrupt silence. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Banner.” 

“Is it?” Bruce blinked, sliding away from Tony’s touch. 

“Sure, it is. Tony Stark, singer at large and you’ve already met my wife.” 

“Yes,” Bruce touched the top of the piano as if to steady himself. “She said you were looking to get into jazz.” 

“I need something new.” Tony shrugged. “Something more me. I’ve been singing my father’s songs too long.” 

When Bruce only nodded in a vague manner, Tony’s eyes narrowed and Pepper suppressed a laugh. 

“You don’t know who the hell I am, do you?” Tony pushed and Bruce shrugged. 

“Apparently you’re Tony Stark. Don’t get your feathers ruffled. I don’t know much about anything these days.” 

“Just sing him something.” Pepper interceded before Tony collected a full head of steam. 

“What should I sing?” He challenged, eyes bright, flickering between her and Bruce. 

“He’s a fan of ‘Unfaithful’.” Pepper said with a smile. 

“You would be.” Tony rolled his eyes. “You know she wrote it to get me in a lather.” 

“Not that it worked. He’s unshakeable. May I?” She sat down on the edge of the piano bench before Bruce could protest. This close, she could smell the sharp spice of his skin and cheap soap. Nothing like Tony’s lush aftershave and pomade. 

“Now pay attention, Mr. Banner.” Tony picked up a sheet of music and rolled it into a microphone. “This is how I get it done.” 

_You love me like a bee loves a flower,  
like a minute loves an hour  
you’re just passing through   
leaving me behind _

Though he’d sung it a thousand times, it still sounded fresh to her. A bleeding wound put to music and exposed to the world. Tony sang it straight to her and these days, it sounded more like an apology. Bruce shifted behind her, the bench giving a little under her. She worried that this was too much, too intimate, but when Tony wound down, Bruce only said: 

“What else have you got?” 

They went through their greatest hits. Pepper picking out occasional notes on the piano and Tony singing with the same husky baritone that had stuck her fast to his side all those years ago. Bruce watched them both, face utterly neutral. 

“That enough for you?” Tony asked, reaching for the glass of water Pepper had fetched a half hour before. 

“Yes.” Bruce brought up his hands and laid them to the keys. “I don’t think...it’s more than I...well. You’re both very talented.” 

“Thank you.” Pepper smiled at him. “That’s kind.” 

“It’s not kindness.” Bruce shrugged. “It’s honesty. You’ve got that elusive ‘it’ that people are always carrying on about.” 

“You’re in then?” Tony grinned.

“It’s a terrible idea.” Bruce closed his eyes tight. “I’m not... I haven’t been on the road in a long time for a good reason.” 

“I’ve heard you have a temper.” Pepper glanced at Tony, who looked pained. Everything about him pleaded with her ‘make him stay, make this happen’. “Is that what you mean?” 

“There’s that. I also...well. I’m a good musician, but a terrible performer. I don’t play the audience, I don’t really like to look at them. Most of the people I’ve worked with have a problem with that.” 

“Ha!” Pepper grinned. “Have you come to the right place. Tony likes to have the stage all to himself.” 

“I’m what everyone’s coming to see.” Tony agreed. 

“Let’s see if we can make music together.” Raising his hands to the keys, Bruce started in on a slightly more mellow version of the mad song he’d been playing earlier. “You know the words to this one?” 

“Don’t insult me.” 

Bruce tore through the opening and Tony, visibly shaken, had to jump in half out of breath. For a brief, uncertain moment Pepper thought that it wouldn’t work. That Bruce’s madcap playing wouldn’t gel with Tony’s honeysweet tones. Then it all clicked together, the burrs shaken out and set smooth. Once he got the hang of Bruce’s style, Tony adapted and fell into his usual singing position. One hand in his pocket, the other on his fake mic and his eyes firmly on Pepper’s face. 

“Another.” She demanded as soon as they wound down. 

She wasn’t sure where to look. Tony was always her true north, drawing her attention no matter where he roamed around the room. But Bruce was new and fascinating, the intensity in every line of his face made her shiver. In the end, she cast her eyes between them, soaking up something powerful. 

“You have to stay.” She said when they were both worn out with the effort. “Please, Mr. Banner. You two together...this is magic.” 

“You’ll have to write us something new.” Tony slumped against her. “Lots of new things.” 

“I haven’t agreed.” Bruce mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. 

“You can’t say no to this.” Tony reached across her to put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “There aren’t many chances like this in a lifetime.” 

“I’ve had chances before, Mr. Stark. I’ve also blown them.” 

“Then don’t blow this one.” 

There was a long silence. Bruce let his hands fall away from the piano to curl nervously around each other in his lap. She ached to find the right words, to know how to unlock him from whatever torture he was putting himself through. 

“Yeah.” He said finally. “Yeah, let’s try it.” 

“This calls for some champagne!” Tony beamed and went upstairs, presumably to harass Jarvis for a bottle and glasses. 

“What will you write us?” Bruce looked her from the corner of his eye. 

“I’ve been saving a few things.” She admitted. “Bits and pieces of different styles that might work better now. You should probably know that the gigs will be...scarce at first. We’ve got to prove Tony can still pack the crowd.” 

“Is it possible that he won’t?” Bruce asked, almost idly, but she could hear the worry there. 

“He took down a bootlegging gang that had turned to gun running. They were not best pleased. They owned a lot of the clubs around here. I’m going to start looking into New York bookings.” 

“You set up the gigs?” 

“There isn’t anyone else anymore.” She smiled, tight and startled when Tony pushed a cold flute into her hand. 

“Solemn face.” He remarked. 

“Solemn topic. We should draw up a contract.” 

Bruce stiffened beside her. 

“Why?” Tony shrugged, raising his glass. “What will be will be. To a new sound.” 

“To a new sound.” Pepper and Bruce echoed, their glasses clinking together. 

She drank the bubbly in one unladylike swallow, savoring the burn all the way down.


	2. Chapter 2

“We’ll need more people.” Bruce’s head was pillowed in his arms at the kitchen table. “This arrangement won’t work with just the two of us and the sound will be too thin in a bigger space.” 

It had taken all of two weeks for Tony to wheedle Bruce into coming to live with them. He had taken up residence in one of the first floor bedrooms, a discreet distance away from the master suite. His few possessions barely made a dent in the room. Pepper had hustled him into a tailor’s for bespoke suits that showed off a surprisingly fit frame. His new crisp white shirt pulled over his shoulders as he moaned into his arms and she resisted the urge to rub his neck where the collar gaped back a little from tanned skin. 

“I’m working on it. Rhodey should be here in a few days. He’s a precision percussionist which might be at odds for the wilder sound, but I think it should smooth out nicely in the end.” She took her seat, one hand wrapped protectively around a mug of black coffee and made notes on a spread of paper in front of her. “Tony and Rhodey have worked together before, so that part should be easy.” 

“Saxaphone.” Bruce muttered. “We need a saxaphone.” 

“That’s coming along.” She doodled a bass clef with puckered lips, whistling out a few notes. “I’m more concerned about the bookings. I’ve got a few things in Midwestern towns, but only a handful once we get to New York. We need to hit big in New York.” 

“Well don’t you two look like buckets of sunshine.” Tony looked like hell, all bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. He’d had a screaming nightmare the night before and wouldn’t be coaxed back to bed for love or money. “What’s shaking?” 

“We’re doomed.” Bruce informed him. Pepper rolled her eyes. 

“Working out a few kinks.” She corrected. “Sit down before you fall down.” 

“I’m not falling.” Tony stumbled into the chair. “What are you writing?” 

“Something new.” She slapped at his hand as he reached over to grab at it. “Too new for your eyes.” 

“It’s sweeping, huge.” Bruce lifted his head, a red line from the seam of his shirt imprinted across his cheek. “We’d need an orchestra to make it work.” 

“You let Bruce see it?” Tony pouted. 

“He’s writing the music.” She confessed, twirling her pen idly in her fingers. “I had the words and a few sounds, but I needed a different ear. This is new for me too.” 

“Oh.” Tony blinked at her owlishly. “I could have...” 

“This is Bruce’s territory, baby. I’ve got a ballad laid out for you, anytime you want it.” 

“No more ballads.” He heaved a dejected sigh. “You’re falling out of love with me. Banner, stop trying to steal my wife.” 

“Hm?” Bruce had grabbed a sheet and started scribbling frantically on it. 

“Never mind.” Tony winked at her, but she couldn’t return it. 

The opening chords to ‘Unfaithful’ played in her head every time she looked at Bruce. She would never, ever cheat on Tony. He was her everything, he was every overwrought lyric she ever wrote. Yet, she looked. Because Bruce was beautiful the way the desert could be beautiful, worn into it by time. Because she wanted to run her fingers through his wild hair and kiss the stubbled line of his jaw. He was always there, soft spoken and thoughtful. Sometimes in the early mornings when Tony was still asleep, they took their breakfast outside and let the sun rise over them as he told her about the foreign lands he had traveled. When she tentatively read him a few lines of a new song, he could immediately hum a few bars of an idea that inevitably worked. 

Tony electrified her, made her new again every day, but Bruce made her quiet, made her think. 

There were words for women like her and none of them were kind. 

“Would you like anything else, Master Stark?” Jarvis swept in, eyeing Tony’s coffee with a raised eyebrow. 

“Bacon and eggs, thanks.” He nudged Pepper’s foot with his own. “What say we take the car out this afternoon. I want to go for a long California drive before you bury us in snow.” 

“It’s summer.” She wrapped her leg around his. “Even Denver isn’t snow covered in July.” 

“Says you.” 

“Here.” Bruce shoved a page her way. “Look at that.” 

“It’s got bacon grease on it.” Tony observed as she glanced over it. 

It was perfect. She ran her finger over the dark smudges of notes. 

“Bruce. This is...” 

“You’re killing me.” Tony plucked the paper from her, overriding protests on all sides. 

Within minutes, he was humming the opening and tapping his foot against the floor to keep the beat. The eggs and bacon Jarvis sat in front of him went cold. 

“Well?” Bruce pressed, hands tangled in his hair. 

“This.” Tony set it down, then picked it back up. “We’re going to blow them away.” 

Before Bruce could protest, Tony was around the table and laying a smacking kiss on his cheek. 

“What was that for?” Bruce’s hand fell to his cheek as if Tony’s lips had seared it.

“You’re brilliant.” Than Tony slid into Pepper’s side and laid one on her lips until heat sizzled under her skin. “And you’re a star. I’m going to go lay it down a few times, see if I can get the taste of it.” 

“I think he liked it.” Bruce said dryly. 

“Just a bit.” Pepper agreed with an uneasy laugh. 

Rhodey arrived late the next day and his drums laid down behind Tony’s silken voice and Bruce’s wild drums turned out to be just the thing. 

“We need a horn.” Rhodey set down his sticks to rub on his wrists. “Then we’re ready to go.” 

“No trumpets.” Tony wiped sweat off the back of his neck. 

“Saxaphone.” Bruce agreed. “We need someone who can wail.” 

“I know a guy.” Rhodey hedged. “Let me make a call.” 

The guy who answered the call looked less like a saxophone player and more like a poster child for the polio vaccine. He stood in the living room holding a glass of soda water like it might tip him over. 

“This is your horn?” Tony turned to Rhodey with a raised eyebrow. “Can he lift a saxaphone?” 

“He is a saxaphone.” Rhodey said firmly. “Trust me.” 

“Me and trust don’t talk so much these days.” But Tony settled onto the couch. 

“Go ahead.” Said Bruce. “Show us what you’ve got.” 

“I...if you like. I’ve got a few...” The kid fidgeted. Pepper took pity on him, taking the glass out of his hands and handing him the battered instrument case he’d struggled to carry in the door. 

“Start easy.” She smiled. “We’ve got all afternoon to listen.” 

“Thanks.” 

The instrument he lifted out of the case was in surprisingly good shape. Someone had lovingly kept the shine on it. There was a stamp on the upturned flare bell that looked like a star. Not a manufacturer she was familiar with. The kid’s hands were larger than the rest of him and he handled it with easy grace. 

Then he began to play. And wail and scream. 

Tony and Bruce went from lazy lounging to razor sharp attention. They kept glancing at each other with wide eyes like they were planning on taking the kid apart to see what made him tick. 

“That all right?” The kid let the mouthpiece drop away, licking nervously at his lips. 

“You hit all sixes.” Rhodey crowed. “Don’t you think boys?” 

“What’d you say your name was?” Bruce asked. 

“Steve Rogers, sir.” 

“Back at the Rat Trap, we just call him the Captain.” Rhodey grinned. “Cause he told us when he showed up he’d earn his stripes. Like we were the army.” 

“You were like the army.” Steve grinned, showing off a mouthful of startlingly white teeth. “And I’m still a private.” 

“Well, you can climb aboard Captain, far as I’m concerned.” Tony shook his head. “I don’t know where you’re hiding those lungs.” 

“No one does.” Steve shrugged. “Guess I’m just a medical freak.” 

“You’ll fit right in.” Tony got to his feet. “Let’s get down to the studio boys. We’ve got two months of practice to get done in the next two days.” 

“I’ve got bookings to make.” Pepper excused herself upstairs. 

Things were in motion now and it was her job to keep the train from jumping tracks. She spent the entire afternoon making phone calls. Booking gigs, hotel rooms and train tickets from here to there. Then, in a brief snatch of quiet, she took out the song that Bruce had set such lovely music too. Tony’s fingerprints were smudged around the edges and the first notes of his wax pencil were jotted in the margins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea when this will update, but I've never left anything permanently WIP and don't plan to start now.


End file.
